Irrational Rationality
by Estein
Summary: She was a regular girl, rational and realistic. She wasn't interested in dark romances, supernatural fairytales, or being overtly 'special'. She was normal. She liked normal. He was a vampire. This is not a love story.
1. Chapitre I

**Don't own it, don't shoot me. All familiar characters and lines are from the True Blood series on HBO.**

**Summary: **

She was a regular girl, rational and realistic. She wasn't interested in dark romances, having a supernatural fairytale, or being _special_. Maël was normal. She liked normal. He was a vampire. This is not a love story.

.~.

_Maëlys_: mah-EH-liss

_Maël_: mah-EL

_lycée_: secondary education in France, somewhat like highschool; a three-year course for ages 15 to 18

_...if you want a translation or explanation of the stuff said in conversation, just message me_.

P.S. Maël is a French girl, from France, not some pretentious teenager using French for fun. _Though, I don't do her any justices with my shit French, but_ :)

P.S.S. Anything offensive isn't supposed to be. I'm not writing in my perspective.

**Please read and review ;) **and correct my French if something's off—haven't wrote in that language in a bit, so there's bound to be mistakes.

_Commence thy reading._

* * *

**Irrational Rationality**

_Chapitre I_

...

Maëlys Morel wasn't used to people staring at her. She wasn't used to _people_ people staring at her, let alone vampires.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so unnerving if they weren't all staring at her like she was some type of obscure creature. Not just regular obscure, but _obscure_—as in: so peculiar that it can usually only be recognized by a pack of seasoned hipsters.

Actually, perhapsit wouldn't have been so unnerving if they weren't all staring at her like a hipster-exhibit _while she dangled two feet up in the air, held onto by a choke-hold to the neck_.

Right. Awkward.

How did she end up in this situation exactly?

She wasn't exactly sure herself.

* * *

Maël had never met a vampire before.

Despite the hype their existence had induced upon many of her classmates, Maël hadn't ever really much of an interest in meeting one.

Sure, she was curious—who wouldn't be at the idea of an entirely different species that managed to coexist unnoticed within the human populace for who knows how long?—but Maël liked to think of herself as level-headed. Self-preservation over the spirit of enquiry, and all that important stuff.

With so many creeps, drug dealers, and sex offenders already lurking the streets of Paris after dark, she wasn't dumb enough to risk her neck (literally) looking for more ways to get assaulted and murdered.

There was nothing curious about being drained, by vampire or not; Maël reckoned the end result of losing at least forty percent of your blood supply would be the same no matter how it's done, fangs or no—the result is most likely death.

So just as soon as Maël became interested in the topic of vampires, she lost interest just as fast.

Unfortunately, that couldn't be said for the rest of the population. Especially teenage girls. Well, females in general, really.

Maël wasn't exactly surprised by their enduring interest—she had to admit that there was something vaguely alluring about the unknown—but the extent of their obsession was rather disturbing on some levels.

But while Maël found some of the girls who studied at her _lycée _concerning, with their unsettling 'passion' for the supernatural, she found herself even more perplexed by the fixation so many Americans had for the nocturnal creatures.

In comparison with the subtle obsession found in France, the States seemed to more or less completely remodel their society around the idea of vampires.

Whether in complete hate or extreme adoration, almost everyone in that country was unhealthily obsessed, and concerningly involved, with the existence of vampires, their state of being something of great import and constant preoccupation.

Maël didn't quite care either way—seeing that while it was odd at minimum, it didn't really concern her on a larger scale of things.

But while it was logical to detach herself from the conflicting society she was presented with, it was also because of that indifference that she ended up in her current situation.

...

When the girl who Maël was boarding with while she stayed in Dallas—Mandy, she believed was her name—decided to drag her along to a vampire-hating church, Maël should have had the sense to break her state of impassivity, and rightfully protested.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn't have ended up as she was.

Of course, when Mandy had perkily invited her to a 'lock-down' at the nearby Fellowship of the Sun church, Maël stupidly accepted despite her previous knowledge of the group being vampire-hating cultists.

She wondered why she even accepted in the first place.

Maël supposed she had wanted to get along with Mandy, seeing as she was to spend nearly half a year living with her, but she'd been more so curious about visiting an active cult. One that happened to be poorly disguised as a religious group of worship.

It sounded more like a B-grade horror film plot than something truly dangerous, so Maël hadn't found much harm in giving into curiousity for once in her life.

_Of course_, _the one time I put curiousity before self-preservation is the one time something horrible actually happens_, she thought sardonically.

Thinking back on it made her feel both mentally deprived and seriously fucked up.

* * *

Maël Morel was shocked by the sight she was presented with as Mandy dragged her into the church. Even more so shocked than the sight of that bubbly blonde with big hair, who had pleasantly greeted them at the entrance.

Everything in the church seemed so... normal.

Maël didn't know if she was disappointed or not; it wasn't like she expected them to be actively burning vampires at the stake or all suited up in vampire hunting gear—well, she had imagined just a bit of that—but she definitely didn't think everything would be so _domesticated_.

Children ran about, weaving through the pews with peals of delighted laughter. Middle-aged housewives gathered in areas and gossip merrily about one another. The men huddled and spoke of the latest sports game.

Everything was so conventional that Maël decided that she did in fact regret agreeing to come with Mandy.

When she heard 'Fellowship of the Sun', she assumed 'vampire-hating church' and had almost looked forward to sightseeing an actual cult at work.

_C'est à mourir d'ennui_, Maël thought as she looked around at her surroundings once more, slightly embarrassed that she had been curious about something like the Fellowship of the Sun. _A complete and utter bore._

"So?" Mandy's excited voice asked, urging Maël out of thoughts of boredom to look at the other girl.

"_Oui_?" she asked with a sheepish grin, sort of guilty for ignoring whatever the girl had been previously saying. Mandy was incredibly cheerful and bubbly that it made Maël feel like a complete _pute_ for wanting to be mean in any way.

"Um," Mandy started, lips pursed as she thought about something, "that means 'yes' in French, right? 'Oui'?"

Her pronunciation was horrible, but Maël just smiled nicely and nodded, not seeing the point of pointing something like that out unless she wanted to look like a pretentious bitch.

"_Alors_, so what were you saying?" Mael inquired when Mandy didn't continue. " _A__vant_? Before, I mean?"

"Oh, right!" Mandy said, lips brightening into a toothy grin. "I think I asked you what you thought about it?" She paused—_What I thought about what?_—but before Maël could reply to the vague question, Mandy was off again, speaking frighteningly fast, "It's really pretty, isn't it? And isn't Mrs. Newlin just darling? I just love this church so much! Oh, the people here are always so nice and kind. It's fabulous. I don't think you've met Mr. Newlin yet, right? He's the reverend, you know—oh, and like Mrs. Newlin's husband. They're just the _cutest _couple! Don't you think so?"

"I've—" Maël started, having a slight bit of trouble following the rapid pace English that spouted from the other girl.

"Right!" Mandy interrupted, "You've never met Reverend Newlin, just Mrs. Newlin. She was the one by the door, by the way. If you hadn't already guessed. But you probably have. You must be smart! I mean, that's the only way people are allowed to study overseas, right? Of course, it is. Silly me!" she giggled, nudging Maël playfully. "But really, though, what d'you think?"

"Ah, well," Maël began again, but before she got any semblance of an answer out, it seemed that Mandy spotted something that struck her interest far more—if one were to judge by the way the girl's eyes simply lit up.

"Oh, sorry, hun," Mandy said, cutting through whatever Maël was about to say, "I think I saw Luke somewhere over there; I think he's _uber_-hot! Not as sexy as Jason Stackhouse with his bedroom eyes and chiseled abs, but Luke's still real hot stuff 'round here! He's even a Soldier of the Sun or something!" she practically squealed. "It'll be alright if I just leave you for a bit to go flirt with him, won't it? Of course it will. Why, hun, you're just _darling_."

With that, Mandy skipped off merrily to find this Luke character, leaving Maël slightly dumbstruck as she was left standing awkwardly alone in between the dozens of pews.

_Soldier of the Sun..._ she pondered, wondering in interest if that was some ranking classification within the cult. _Mais, un peu cliché, quand même. __'Fellowship of the Sun'. 'Soldiers of the Sun'... _Maël scoffs, quietly. _A real clichéd lack of creativity. How sad._

Sighing, Maël looked around once more. The completely ordinary happenings hadn't changed, still looking family-friendly and picture-perfect, leaving Maël feeling slightly out of place within the cozy environment as she stood all on her lonesome.

She didn't quite know if she wanted to introduce herself to people, not that interested in ingratiating herself into some religious cult—because that's what the Fellowship was despite the way it looked—so Maël decided to explore the rest of the church instead, hoping to find something of interest.

...

After a few minutes of exploration, Maël concluded that exploring was incredibly boring.

Not only was the church completely regular, with no secret torture chamber or sliding passageways, to Maël's dismay, there wasn't even a single anti-vampire publication hanging obviously about.

Though somewhat odd, Maël had come to this 'lock-out' (or something?) with the idea of seeing first-hand the type of religious extremists she'd often viewed on the news.

It wasn't like France didn't have crazy extremists, it was just that American ones seemed just so much more intense and, well, _crazier_.

She was sorely disappointed that everything within this silly cult was devastatingly normal.

However, when she came upon the normal-looking stairwell leading to the basement, Maël felt her expectations rise once more.

Of course, she knew that it was a bad idea to venture into the cultists' basement, and her sense of self-preservation was dutifully trying to will her away from the neat little staircase. Though Maël had seen enough horror films that venturing into any basement was a bad idea, an inkling of curiousity was telling her to screw her sensibilities.

_Well_, she thought, knowing that anything but walking away from the basement stairwell would be stupid, _I have come this far, haven't I? I came here looking for crazy cultists, so... What's a little curiousity going to do if everything has been completely normal so far. _Nodding, Maël assured herself, _I bet there's going to be nothing down there anyways, and I'll be just as disappointed as before._

_Yes_, she thought, convincing herself as she took the first step, her leather flat making a soft tap against the wood, _I bet there's nothing down there. _

She continued down the short flight of stairs, telling herself that everything was going to be alright. She refused to think of the monsters potentiallylurking in the basement.

_Don't be stupid, Maël_, she thought._ This isn't a horror film._

Reaching the last step, the part of Maël that was expecting bloodied walls and rituals scrawled across the stone floor was disappointed. The basement appeared to be completely regular, well-lit and spacious.

However, within the area beside the stairs, which was fenced off by a tall chain-link fence, was a row of shelves full of questionable games.

_Is that 'Pin the Stake in the Vampire?'_ she wondered, pondering on who had the right mind to make such a game, and how on earth they were so unimaginative.

Maël wanted to take a closer look at the rest of the games, but the area was locked up, making her sigh with slight annoyance.

No longer interested, Maël decided to go further into the basement. The well-lit hall that went further down was rather unassuming, making her forget all apprehension she previously had for the basement.

The first door was locked, so Maël didn't pry, fearful of the fact that there may be alarms to be triggered. The last thing she wanted was to be caught snooping, and more importantly, Maël didn't think she'd be able to talk herself convincingly out of the trouble she'd be in.

_And imagine what sort of punishments an anti-vampire cult would give..._

The only other door was the one at the end of the hall, sitting innocently ajar.

Maël stopped in front of it, slightly affronted and vaguely amused by the sign taped onto the tinted window.

Written with a bold red permanent marker on a piece of white A4 printer paper was the words, 'CAUTION: BEWARE OF VAMPIRE.'

Maël couldn't help the small peal of laughter that followed after she read the sign over twice more, not believing her eyes. _I swear, the old man next door has a sign just like this one, except it's more 'ATTENTION! CHIEN MÉCHANT!' with a scary cartoon of a dog on the sign._

Covering her mouth before she could alert anyone with her giggles, she grabbed the sign and carefully pulled it off the window. Neatly folding it, Maël slid it into her red leather satchel. _For a souvenir_, she told herself amusedly. _A nice little memento of my ventures into this charming little place.__  
_

She was about to walk away—now that she had found something of vague interest in this church, it wasn't much of an idea to snoop any more—but the slight curiousity of what really was behind that door got to her.

In her head, 'self-preservation' was avidly protesting, but Maël was so intrigued by the fact an actual vampire could be only a mere door away.

Ignoring common-sense, Maël grasped the cold metal of the knob.

_Besides, __if there really was a dangerous vampire, they'd at least close the door_ _properly,_ _wouldn't they?_

...

Peering in first, to assess the situation beyond the door, Maël was actually surprised to see a pale, dark-haired teen leaning calmly against the opposite wall, looking somewhat inquisitive at her.

"Ah," she stammered, startled that there was actually someone in the basement, opening the door wider and stepping in. "_Pardon_," she apologized, "I didn't mean to snoop. I didn't know that there'd be, um, _quelqu'un_ _ici_, uh, someone here, um, in the basement..." Maël cleared her throat, straightening her spine. "You startled me."

The boy simply tilted his head, assessing Maël and making her feel rather self-conscious. The boy himself was rather good-looking, Maël noticed, taking in the remarkably smooth complexion and timeless green eyes.

He was also pale, _much _too pale.

"Are you _un vampire_?" she spoke without thinking, afterwards berating herself for the rude question. "I mean, you don't have to reply. That was rude of me. _Excusez-moi_."

"_Oui_," the boy replied with a slight imperceptible tilt of his lips, the French sliding smoothly off the tip of his tongue in warm familiarity.

"Oh," she eloquently said, surprised at receiving an answer.

"Were you not aware?" he asked. His English was accented, but the inflection was so light and indistinct that Maël couldn't place her finger on it. "I had thought they placed a notice of some sort."

The mention of the paper sign made Maël want to giggle again; she smiled as she pulled it from her satchel.

"You mean, this?"

The vampire simply nodded his head.

"You knew that they put _this_ on the door?" she asked incredulously, "Didn't you find it a bit, well, _insultant_? My neighbour back in France has a sign just like this for his volatile little bulldog. _Quel connard_. Assholes, the both of them." Maël wrinkled her nose in recollection. "The dog always tries to bite my ankles off because it can't reach much else, and I swear the old man tries to steal my laundry. He looks a bit like my father, which really disturbs me," she added unnecessarily.

The vampire lifted his lips into an inscrutable semblance of a smile.

"If the humans wish to insult me, it would take a bit more than that."

"Really?" Maël asked curiously. "Then what exactly would it take to insult you?"

The vampire seemed to softly huff in amusement, "I doubt you want to find out."

It sounded far more ominous to Maël's ears than it should have. She slightly shuddered, the action involuntary.

"Did I frighten you?"

Maël wrinkled her nose, unimpressed from being noticed.

"_Non_," she said, pride tingeing her tone. "Enough about that, though. What are you doing down here?"

"I am to meet the sun," he said, as if stating the sky were blue.

"What?" she exclaimed, incredulous. "But, but, _why_? You're a vampire, aren't you? Why would you let _quelque chose comme ça arriver_?"

_How could you let that happen?_

"If not me, then it will be another of my kind."

Maël gaped, unable to comprehend the logic of the statement.

"You are shocked," he stated, seemingly perplexed by the emotion. "Were you unaware of this taking place at sunrise on the morrow?"

_Fellowship of the Sun _really _is a cult, and they actually do _burn _vampires. _Maël didn't know if she was horrified at the reality or actually gratified at discovering evidence of cultist activity like she wished. _Either way, these Americans are fucking crazy._

"Well, I was aware," she finally replied, "that this 'Fellowship' was probably a cult of some sort, those people on _télé_ are far too into their anti-vampire sentiments to not have one. I was just completely shocked that there would be an actual vampire who was _assez stupide,_ so stupid, and actually willing to go along with such, such," she tried to find the proper insult in English, "such complete and utter ass-fuckery!"

The vampire actually looked somewhat affronted, if not slightly annoyed.

"Little girl, you speak of things beyond you and your opinions."

"Oh, _vraiment_? Really?" she goaded in irritation over the condescending attitude of the vampire. While she was aware the vampire was probably a great deal older—much, _much_ older—hearing something like that from someone who looked just about her age couldn't help but annoy her. "My name is Maël, you condescending _ane__, _not 'little girl'," she snipped, becoming even more irritated at the lack of reaction from the vampire; he didn't blink twice at being called an ass. "And while I may be young, I'm not blind."

The vampire didn't say anything in response, continuing to look impassively at her. _His face really irritates me. Pretty or not, it really, really annoys me._

Maël continued with a sneer, "I'm not blind to see that it is complete and utter crock that you're, what is that expression again, oh right, 'taking one for the team'." She motioned air-quotations, scoffing at the phrase. "I don't know why exactly you're here, but I'm betting it is because of something pitiable and angst-ridden like the loss of will to live."

Maël thought she saw some shock in those green eyes, but she was too busy rushing through her tirade to care. Each word she spoke just made her more and more irritated.

"Hah," she mocked laughter with a derisive scoff, "I bet people would think it tragic, _qu'un __**vampire**__ n'a pas la volonté de vivre._" Maël smirked at the visible pique subtly surfacing on his features. "_Moi_, I just think its a mockery, that a vampire doesn't have the will to live. But you know what else I think?" she asked, not hesitating for a reply. "I think you're just running away. Running away from all your sins and grievances, and covering it all up with something like selflessness. Pretending you're all kind and altruistic while you are truly anything _but_."

The vampire opened his mouth, perhaps to speak, but Maël cut off whatever sound he was about to make.

"Do you know what that makes you?" she prompted, rhetoric in her question. "It makes you no more pitiable than the humans you all seem to look down upon," Maël hissed, just spiteful enough to mean offense. "I think you're just as much a coward as the rest of us, _enculé_."

The taste of the final insult leaving her mouth made her feel breathless and somewhat embarrassed for going off like that. She would have apologized for being such a rude little bitch if the vampire hadn't open his mouth to speak.

"You are correct," he said, surprising Maël with the admittance, but then he continued, eyes hard and tone cold—almost angry in its harshness. "And yet, you still know _nothing_."

_Forget apologizing,_ Maël thought, insulted.

"And yet, I'm still **correct**."

"You do not understand," he said simply, speaking as if she was but a foolish child.

Maël knew that compared to him, she probably didn't even amount up to a fetus, let alone a child, but she wasn't going to take patronizing bullshit from just anyone. Especially not from a suicidal vampire.

"I clearly know enough _pour avoir raison_, _n'est-ce pas_? Clearly, I understand enough to be right, _right_?" she snarkily asked, meaning to annoy and offend. "Aren't you truly a coward? Can you deny that am I not right about that? _Monsieur, tu es un lâche, non_?"

_Un lâche. A coward. You're a coward. You are, aren't you? Why would you run from reality if you weren't?_

The vampire's eyes darkened, perhaps in fury or vexation, flashing forward quicker than she could catch and leant forward until their noses almost brushed. She feel the cool air emanating from his skin.

Maël had the common-sense to feel an inkling of fright as the air tensed up, though she refused to step back in acquiescence, glaring as hard as she could.

They remained with their eyes locked together for a cold, hard moment; cold green against harsh blue.

But then, the vampire smiled.

It was a small quirk at the corners of his lips, soft and indulgent, and although a rather pleasant sight, it only served to further incense Maël.

_It's like he's trying to placate me_, she thought irately, _like I'm some easily swayed salope who is simply taken by pretty smiles from pretty boys. I'm not a slut and I'm _not _placated by his charming little smile._

She narrowed her eyes when the vampire spoke, his tone much more easy than before as he whispered into her ear, lips brushing against the shell.

"_Ma petite, il y a une différence entre la connaissance et la compréhension._"

_My dear, there's a difference between knowledge and understanding._

At that, the vampire brushed passed her stilled figure, a soft _whoosh_ indicating the use of vampiric speed as he exited down the hall.

...

Maël could feel a churning heat gather at the tip of her ear, where soft lips touched. She could still hear the vampire's velvety French echo through her consciousness, making the heat spread from the tip of her ear down into her cheeks, and probably the rest of her face.

_Merde_, she thought as she felt her entire face heat up, rather put off by the effect the vampire had on her. _Shit, I'm a slut_. _Not really, but sort of._

Gathering her wits, she noticed she was still clutching onto the caution sigh and shoved it quickly into her satchel as she exited the room, a loud blaring alarm sound began echoing down the hall.

A scuffling of voices could be heard down the hall, but by the time Maël got back to the stairwell exiting the basement, no one remained apart from a large man sprawled within the fenced off area.

Maël paused, staring at the brutal tear of the lock and door, wondering if the man who lay face first upon the floor was dead or alive.

The angle of his thick neck made Maël wince, quickly deciding that she was better off not knowing what had happened, and rushed up the stairs before she could think more of it.

Her flats tapped swiftly up the wooden steps, mirroring Maël's desire to get away from the questionable man in the basement.

Except, it just might have been better if she remained down below, the first sound she heard almost knocking her back down the stairs.

"STAKE!" someone had screamed, shrill and fearful, making Maël jump back. It was followed by a few more loud yelps and grunts. Luckily, she caught herself on the railing before she tumbled backwards down the steps.

Deciding that it was best to look for another choice of path and a quick exit, Maël swiftly turned in the opposite direction of all the commotion, slipping quietly away before she could hear anymore.

It currently wasn't her problem and she didn't want to deal with whatever was happening over there if she could help it.

_I should have paid more attention to Mandy when she brought me in_, Maël thought, reprimanding herself for not knowing where the exits were as she looked confusedly about. _I mean, I knew that the Fellowship was probably a crazy anti-vampire cult, so it just might have been smart to note an escape route or two._

Sighing, she went for the one of the doors that led to the sanctuary, hoping that it wouldn't lead her right into trouble.

Slowly, she opened the door with as little sound as possible, not wanting to make an indication of her presence.

Looking in first, she caught sight of a man in a flashy all-white suit—_whoever gave him the idea to wear it must be either crazy or blind—_and a small hoard of individuals wrapped up in silver chains, all holding some sort of weaponry.

Quickly abandoning her post by the door, Maël rush behind a pew to avoid being spotted.

From her current vantage point, she could hear the man in white spout a bunch of horrible things about vampires, watching as a protesting blonde lady screamed out towards the armed men, trying to reason with the hoard—_une vraiment bonne idée_, she couldn't help but think in sarcasm.

Gulping, Maël wondered if she could get out of this situation undetected, nervously measuring out the distance from her current location to the large exit on the other end of the sanctuary.

_Maybe if I keep my head down and crawl behind the pews, _she thought, biting her lips in agitation,_ I can make a run for it before they can catch me. _

However, before she could get very far, a firm grip grasped her around the shoulders and pulled her upright into a darkened alcove. Maël made to scream but another hand quickly wrapped around her mouth, preventing the escape of any sound.

The hands tightened on her until she stopped squirming. She could feel her heart-rate accelerating and cool sweat trickling down her neck.

"Hush," a familiar voice demanded, impossibly soft against her ear like a breath of cloud, "_Ne fais pas du bruit._"

_Don't make a sound._

The soothing quality in the voice, the vampire's voice, made her tense before relaxing into the hold, leaving Maël to make a small nod of assent.

The hands released their grasp, allowing Maël to quickly turn towards her assailant, she wasn't surprised at the sight of the vampire from the basement.

Getting the hint that speaking was not the best option, she mouthed the word '_pourquoi_?' to the vampire.

_Why? Why are you helping me? Why aren't you doing something about what's going on? Why should I listen to you? _were all the questions left unsaid but heavily implied.

The vampire just gave her that irritating quirk to his lips, not quite a smirk but not really a smile.

He even had the nerve to pat her head once, before leaving her standing alone in the little crevice, questioning what just happened.

...

Pursing her lips in irritation, Maël also left the alcove soon after, edging along the wall and taking care to slowly creep against the shadows to avoid being detected.

However, it was just her luck that the edge of her silken blouse caught onto a stray splinter, making her stumble as she attempted to unlodge the material without damaging it.

_Merde!_ she fumbled, knowing that the best option would have been to tear it an run, but her emotional attachment to the garment made her reluctant to do so.

That reluctance was enough for one of the angry people carrying wooden weapons to notice her in the shadows, probably making more noise as she attempted to shrink away.

"Hey! You! There!" he barked loudly, making all eyes turn towards her. Even the pretentious man in white who had been speaking had paused in his self-righteous speech and gave her a scathing glare, as if she had orchestrated the interruption just to spite him.

Finally getting her blouse safely out of the splinter, Maël decided to screw everything and made a break for it.

Of course, she wasn't surprised when the tall man who alerted everyone to her presence easily caught up in long strides, grabbing her by her long hair and dragging her forwards.

_Merde! Merde! Merde!_ she thought, each step bringing her closer and closer to the center of all the commotion, _SHIT!_

"_Merde_!" she actually voiced, when she came within a metre from the man in white, "Um, _je m'excuse... Je ne sais pas qu'est-ce que se passer, mais_, I, um, unhand me?" she spluttered out quickly, completely terrified at coming face to face with an actual leader of an actual cult.

"Who are you?" the man in white asked, ignoring Maël's previous question.

Maël licked her lips nervously, hands trembling, looking fearfully at all the angry people surrounding her, but before she could reply the protesting blonde lady interrupted.

"She's just a _child_!" she cried out in disbelief that the man in white would drag Maël into whatever was happening, like anyone would actually listen.

"No one asked you, whore of Satan," the man in white barked, "Never you mind, where was I?" he asked himself, brushing off Maël's presence, "Right. You are either with us or _against_ us," he proclaimed, "We are prepared for Armageddon."

_What the fuck? _Maël thought, as she watched on in horror as the man in white spoke animatedly.

"The vampire you're holding prisoner," the blonde lady goaded angrily, "got _away_. He's bound to send for help!" Maël could tell she was grasping for straws at this point.

"I'm not concerned with Godric," the man in white scoffed, "Any vampire will do for our grand celebration!" he announced, much too merry with his Southern twang than appropriate for whatever morbid ideas he had.

The man in white looked pointedly at the extremely tall blond who was standing beside protesting blonde lady; Maël was surprised she hadn't noticed him before that moment. "An' we got one right here!" the man in white gleefully pointed.

There was silence, the tall blond vampire staring impassively at the man in white for a moment before turning towards the blonde lady. "I'll be fine," he whispered, just loud enough for Maël to catch onto the small comforting edge.

The tall blond vampire stepped forward, almost dutifully, and the man in white smiled maniacally.

Maël looked on, dumbfounded. _Can't you just incapacitate everyone here and make for a grand escape? You're a fucking vampire, aren't you? These guys are all fucking idiots! _

"Excuse me?" a voice shattered through her thoughts. "_What_ did you just say?"

Maël gasped in horror, noticing the glares she was being directed by both the angry mob of people and the man in white. The blonde lady was looking at her with almost the amount of horror Maël happened to be feeling. The vampire just stilled, not turning towards her, but still clearly bristled.

_Merde_, she thought, realizing that she probably just spoke out loud. _Shit, me and my fucking mouth. Oh, wait, excuse my grammar (pronouns after common nouns, wasn't it?)—'Shit, my fucking mouth and me.'_

With the man in white looking expectantly at her with his scathing glare, Maël decided that bite the bullet, far too prideful to be cowed by some poorly dressed American.

Yanking her hair out of the grip of the man behind her, Maël straightened using in the same motion, attempting to appear stronger than she was. A quivering teenage amongst crazy cultist members of the Christian faith isn't a convincing image to portray.

"Well, _monsieur_, sir, I didn't just say this, but I think you're fucking crazy," she said, glaring at the man in white with a sweet smile plastered onto her face. Maël attempted to hide the slight tremor shuddering at her lips when she spoke, she had to appear confident, or else she was going be eaten alive. "Pardon my _french_," she drawled, smirking at her own pun.

As the majority of the people turned towards her, Maël found it completely rational to adopt a pretentious sneer in encouragement of her rather irrational bravado. This goaded a better part of them to reel back, startled and visibly annoyed.

"More importantly, _vous avez pleine de merde_," she continued. Despite her obvious diminutive height in comparison to the man in white, Maël managed to successfully look contemptuously down her nose at him. "You. Are. Full. Of. _Shit_." She punctuated each word, emphasizing the last.

The man in white's gleeful grin slid off, like an oily snake in the grass, his face becoming gradually red in anger.

"Shut up, you foreign bitch!" he snarled, beckoning towards the mob, "Get the vampire, and shut that bitch up!"

Maël felt two sets of hands wrap around her wrist, dragging her back into a tight hold. She could see the blonde lady struggling as two men grabbed onto her.

A set of men shoved the tall blond vampire onto the altar, tying him down with lengths of silver chains. He hissed as the silver bit into the pale flesh, fans instinctively sliding out from pain.

Maël wanted to cry out herself, seeing the silver hiss and curdle as the faint scent of flesh burning tinged her nose.

"You _see_," the man in white began renewed by the sight of the pained vampire, "Just as our Lord, our Saviour, was betrayed by thirty pieces of silver," he preached, "a few ounces of silver can betray a child of Satan to the world!" The man in white waved a pointed hand about.

_That doesn't make any sense_, Maël thought.

"That doesn't make any sense!" the blonde lady actually voiced. "How can you people listen to him?"

_They aren't listening, they're fucking brainwashed._

Before the blonde could continue with her objection, the husky voice of the vampire upon the altar broke through.

"I," he started, pain evident in his voice as the movement of his throat only further embedded the silver chain, "I offer myself in exchange for Godric's freedom," he said, pausing, "and the girl's." As an afterthought, he motioned towards Maël with a pained tilt of his head. "The child, too."

The man in white nodded, mockingly.

"That's noble," he condescended, "but she's just as culpable as you are."

_But I'm not_, Maël mentally protested, _so let _me_ the fuck go, why don't you?_

"She's a _traitor _to her race," the man in white hissed, "the human race!" He looked hatefully at the blonde lady. "She hardly deserves mercy."

The man in white didn't stop there; he leant down towards the snarling vampire. "Maybe we should _tie _her to you," he suggested, "so you can be in the sun, together!"

"No!" the blonde lady protested, horrified.

The man in white's voice was smug, "Bet this _marshmallow_ would roast up nicely!"

The blonde struggled pointlessly against the men holding her, gasping in protest.

"SOOKIE!"

The sound of another voice, a deep southern drawl, echoed into the sanctuary as the doors slammed open. Maël heard frightful screams of terror shrill beyonds those doors as they swung closed.

A pale man with exaggerated sideburns stood in the entrance, Maël assumed he was a vampire, it being confirmed when he sped forward quicker than one could blink, brows furrowed in fury.

Before the sideburned vampire could reach halfway to the blonde lady—_Sookie_, Maël assumed—the man in white pulled a standardized silver revolver from his suit.

"One more move, vampire," he stated, cocking the gun, "and the girl _dies_."

"If you shoot her," the angry sideburned vampire snarled, fangs out, "_everyone_ here will _die_."

Maël didn't know why but she felt annoyed by that statement, finding the vampires seemingly romantic devotion to be puke-worthy.

"_Let her go_," the sideburned vampire demanded, "_now._" His tone broke no room for argument.

However, the man in white disagreed.

Taking an exasperated sigh, "Honestly, what do they see in you?" Turning towards his men, gun still cocked and pointed, "Soldiers, some silver chains for our _friend_ here."

A dark-haired man nodded in determination, walking towards the sideburned vampire.

"Don't!" the blonde, Sookie, interjected, "He's done _nothing _to you!"

_As if they would care_, Maël thought, shaking her head at the foolish protestation. _These people have all been indoctrinated by a psychopath of almost epic proportions_.

"Sookie, I will be fine," the sideburned vampire stated confidently, reaching out—whether to accept or deny the chains approaching, Maël wasn't sure.

"NEWLIN!" interrupted another voice, making everyone turn from the newly arrived vampire to the handsome blond man holding onto what looked to be an assault rifle. Before anyone could say or do anything, the man let off a shot.

Maël watched in amusement when a green splatter hit the man in white's—Newlin's—hand, making him drop in the gun and squawk. _Paintball gun_, she grinned, watching as Newlin tried to shake the pain out of his abused hand, gasping in hisses as he tensed the muscles.

"Let her go, fuckwad!" the blond man commanded, sounding much more convincing than the sideburned vampire had. Aiming his gun, he let another shot rip.

This time it nailed Newlin straight in the middle of his forehead with another green splat.

_Wow, I think I love this new guy_, Maël thought in admiration.

Maël couldn't help her splutter of laughter when people shrieked and Newlin's entire face scrunched like an angry newborn.

Newlin's face was beyond red, with both anger and pain, as his hands tensed, not knowing whether or not to nurse the pain spreading from the center of his forehead.

As people backed away, unsure, the sideburned vampire rushed forward with vampiric speed.

Seeing him viciously knock back the two men holding onto the blonde lady, Sookie, the men grasping onto Maël quickly let go, retreating with the rest of the Fellowship members.

Sookie and the sideburned vampire embraced; Maël likened it to a cheap clichéd scene you'd find in the latest blockbuster romance film.

"_Sonofabitch_," Newlin could be heard moaning amongst the terrified cries, and Maël couldn't resist shoving him to the side as she rushed up the steps to the altar.

Maël usually wouldn't have taken any initiative to help someone she wasn't familiar with, due to unforeseen consequences, but watching the blonde lady make cow eyes with the sideburned vampire made her feel both sick and sorry for the tall blond who had given himself up.

_Plus, he had told them to let me go too, didn't he_, Maël thought as she pulled the silver chains from the blond vampire. She winced in disgust as the chains pulled flesh along with it as it let off wisps of smoke.

The blonde lady soon rushed over, despite her sideburned vampire's protestation, helping Maël pull the chain up with the other end in her grasp.

"Let's go," she, the Sookie woman, said as the blond vampire slowly slowly sat up. Maël wasn't ashamed to say that she admired the clench of his abs beneath his wife-beater.

The tall blond vampire clearly had a different idea than peacefully leaving without bloodshed as he rushed Newlin, grabbing him by the throat with a single hand, shoving him into the steps below.

Newlin groaned as the Sookie lady protested, "_Eric_, do _not_ kill him!"

"Kill him!" the handsome blond yelled from across the room, "Kill the motherfucker!"

_I really do love this guy_, Maël couldn't help but think, agreeing with the blond man.

"Go on," Newlin breathed out, "_martyr_ us! Martyr us before God!" He glared heatedly at the tall blond vampire, eyes crazed. "We are willing to die!" he proclaimed.

None of the other Fellowship members seemed to agree with the sentiment, looking around uneasily as the sound of loud, rushing air reverberated from beyond the sanctuary walls.

The sideburned vampire quickly grabbed the Sookie lady into his safe embrace, holding her closely against his chest.

Maël wasn't sure of what was about to happen so she just stepped closer to the tall blond vampire, doubting anything would want to go through him.

The doors slammed open, dramatic as a set of figures emerged, first from the center doors then from the doors on the wings.

Maël watched as vampires filed in, fangs brandished and glinting beneath the church lights.

"Steve Newlin," a harsh baritone called out, the speaker revealed to be a tall vampire wearing a cowboy hat and matching boots. He stood tall at the center of the line of vampires. "You have pushed us too far."

The Fellowship members instantly cowed at the sight of the numerous amounts vampires lined up at the other end of the room.

"You expect us to sit on our thumbs, while you round up your men to come _lynch _us?" the vampire's voice was harsh and mocking, tapering into a soft whisper, a promise. "We'll kill you first," he paused, letting the words sink in, "same way we did your _father_."

"Oh, God, no," Maël heard the Sookie lady whisper, but the horrified disbelief was soon covered by Newlin's scream of hatred.

"MURDERER!" he yelled as best he could with the tall blond vampire's hand wrapped around his throat, pushing him back down into the steps as he attempted to rise up. He choked in pain as the pressure of the hand cut into his windpipe, letting out a screeching wheeze.

Maël almost wanted to feel sorry for Newlin. That is, if he weren't such an insane asshole blinded by his extremist religious beliefs.

"Destroy them," the Western-reminiscent vampire softly allowed. "_All of them_."

In happened in matters of seconds, Maël watched in panic as fangs fully extended and numerous blurs rushed forward, screams emanating from the humans as vampires grasped hold of them.

The blond vampire let go of Newlin's neck, not even looking as he reached over and pulled Maël out of the way from one of the blurs.

"Stop them!" Sookie screamed to her sideburned vampire.

"We have to go, _now_!" he retorted, trying to pull her away from the ensuing chaos.

Snarls and screams mixed in cacophony as Maël watched frantically at the pending bloodshed. She instinctively placed her free hand fearfully against her pale slender neck.

"Enough," a familiar voice rang out, calm and commanding as it echoed throughout the sanctuary.

Everything seemed to stop at the sound of it; all the vampires paused midway, fangs still out, just shy of crunching into a few tender jugulars, the screams and screeches stopped in silence, the blond vampire let go of Maël's arm in order to stare reverently at the speaker.

Maël herself was almost entranced by the sight of the youthful vampire dressed in linens. He stood on the second level, between the organ pipes, with a faint light glowing behind him.

He looked _holy_, despite the youth in his features and the fact he was a vampire. _  
_

"You came for me, I assume," his voice dulcet, flat in tone, "Underling?" he asked pointedly.

Snarling, the vampire in the cowboy hat replied, almost reluctantly as he bit out his words. "Yes, Sheriff."

"These people have not harmed me," the vampire—Godric, Maël believed they had called him—said, looking down at everyone with his timeless green eyes, he sounded slightly chagrined. "You see, we _can _coexist," he stated, turning with a tilt of his head towards Newlin, who had curled himself inwards, panting in exertion. "Mr. Newlin," he addressed, making every vampire look at the white-suited man, "I do not wish to create bloodshed when none is called for. Help me set an example."

The cowboy vampire looked to be in disagreement, huffing and rolling his eyes as he licked his lips in hunger.

Godric continued, "If we leave you in peace, will you do the same?" He was genuine in his question, sincere in the words he was asking.

Newlin seethed. "I will _not_," he hissed, "negotiate with _sub-humans_."

Getting up from his crouched position, he kneeled in front of the tall blond vampire, pulling down his starched collar to reveal sweat-slicked pale skin, flushed pink in exertion.

"Kill me," he demanded, whimpers and protests coming from the other members of the Fellowship. "Jesus will protect me," he claimed, the bravado apparent by the harsh tremble of his lips.

Newlin closed his eyes, as if accepting his fate, feigning in any way to appear as a righteous martyr for his cause.

"I'm actually older than your Jesus," Godric said plainly. Newlin's eyes snapped open and gaped wordlessly at him upon hearing the statement. "I wish I could've known him," the vampire quirked a brow, almost cheekily, "but I missed it."

There was a subtle impertinence in the angle of his lips and a bold glint in his eyes.

Maël couldn't help the bubble of laughter that spilled from her throat, the anxiety getting to her nerves. She giggled in delight as she replayed the line through her head.

She felt a few sets of eyes trained on her in disbelief, but their attention was soon taken by the sound of the air being cut; Godric disappeared from his second-level perch and appeared within an instant behind Newlin's kneeling form. He grasped the back of the man's collar, dragging him upright as he stepped onto the steps behind him, speaking out to the armed congregation.

"Good people," he spoke in a clear voice, "who of you is willing to die for this man's madness?"

Silence met the air as the vampire looked from one dumbfounded face to another, even Maël's hysterical giggling dying out when met with the stifling tension.

"That's what I thought," he said, impassive. "Stand down, everyone," he addressed both the humans and his vampires. The vampires dutifully let go of their prey, albeit with slight disinclination.

"People," Godric concluded, sweeping his gaze of the lot. "It's over now."

"Oh, thank God," the Sookie lady breathed out. "Bill?" she whispered, murmuring into her sideburned vampire's chest, asking for comfort.

"It's alright," he cooed, not disappointing, "You're safe now."

Maël felt her stomach churn at the sight, nose wrinkling at the soft comforting whispers.

People began filing out, clearly rattled, trudging out of the sanctuary without turning back. Even as Newlin pleaded.

"Please," he whimpered, "don't leave me. _Please_."

He grunted as the vampire holding onto him flicked his wrist, throwing onto the stone floor.

"I dare say my faith in humankind is stronger than _yours_," Godric sneered, more matter-of-fact than cruel. "Come," he addressed the rest of the vampires who lingered.

As he stepped down, Maël couldn't help but feel vaguely lost, despite knowing that there was no reason for her to feel that way.

_I don't even know the guy, for goodness sake_, she berated herself.

"Sir," the cowboy vampire protested, fangs not retracted, "after all these _humans_ have done to you—"

His tirade was cut off by the unwavering tone in his superior's voice, "I said, _come_."

Maël was a bit amazed at the sight, for it looked as if a teenaged boy had shut up a grown man, completely cowering the man as he couldn't help but dejectedly make way for the young-looking vampire.

"_Attendez_," Maël couldn't help and call out before Godric had gotten too far. She didn't know what she meant by asking him to wait, but the demand left her lips before she could think on it.

_Wait._

Godric stopped, along with his line of trailing vampires, turning his profile towards her.

"_Pourquoi_?" he asked, tossing her question from before right back at her. He was almost playful in tone, teasing, as a familiar quirk at his lips made itself known.

_Why?_

Maël swallowed, somehow irritated by the glint in the vampire's eyes. It looked, almost _smug_; it confused Maël.

Then, she got it.

"_J'ai encore raison, n'est-ce pas_?" Maël asked—_I'm still right, aren't I?—_noting his lips tilt upwards a fraction more. "_À propos de ce que j'ai dit, auparavant_?"—_Of what I said, before?—_No matter how aloof the vampire's face remained, Maël was confident in her words, confident that if she continued along this path she could press him hard enough to snap. "_Tu vas__ encore le_ _faire_," she stated—_You're still going to do it._—not asking, but clarifying. Sneering in mock disappointment, she finished, "_J'étais peut-être un peu trop gentille pour t'appelle un enculé, tu es beaucoup trop lâche pour quelque chose de si._"

_Enculé. One could call it a disparagement towards homosexual men, but the use of it varies. Weak, pussy. Lack of manliness. Absence of cajones. American translation simply doesn't have the flare of French, nor the correct impact. Enculé. I really was too nice to call you such, you are something else entirely. Cowards may lack balls but at least they wouldn't have the gall to pretend otherwise._

An almost inaudible gasp rang out in chorus from those who understood Maël's words, the tall blond not even bothering as he sped forward from his spot in front of the blonde lady and her vampire.

The tall vampire grasped Maël by the neck, dragging her up into the air; she was surprised she managed to prevent her own frightened gasp, for air, for her life.

The vampire's eyes were menacing in their glacial quality, clearly irate. His fangs snapped out with a sharp '_snick_' as he soundlessly snarled.

The tension seemed to trickle back to the room. Some vampires even seemed _giddy_ at the prospect of bloodshed, any sort would do.

The blonde Sookie lady seemed to want to help Maël, which she appreciated, but her vampire boyfriend, or whatever, grasped onto her tightly before she could get far.

"Eric!" Sookie cried in protest at the tall blond vampire. Despite the iron grasp of the sideburned vampire, she sought forward against the grasp. "Stop it! Let her down!"

Maël wanted to cry, but she willed her own blue eyes to glare into the intimidating vampire's, not wanting to give into the fact that he could, and probably will, snap her like a twig.

_Why did I have to say that? _she pondered at her own psychosis, wondering if she had a momentary lapse of insanity. _It's not like I'm a dumb idiot who didn't notice he was obviously some sort of authority figure. Why would I say something so bloody rude? And in front of his numerous, _vampiric_, lackeys, no less._ Maël wanted to sigh in admonishment if it weren't for the large hand at her throat. Fuck,_ I just might die._

Still, despite the fright within her, she refused to cry out in pain, refused to take back her words. Not only because she found them true, but also for the fact that her pride wouldn't allow such a thing.

Maël shifted her eyes just a fraction to the right, catching contact with those ageless green eyes, telling them exactly what she thought.

_I won't give in to some coward, nor his overgrown blond henchman_, she declared in defiance, watching as clear green eyes simply stared, almost perplexed at the sight of her. _No matter how idealistic it may be, no matter how petulant and irrational, I will _not_ give in, not to fear, not to_ you, she continued within her mind, looking directly into the vampire's eyes, somehow knowing that the silent words were being received. _I'm not a coward. Not for you.  
_

A moment passed. Silence. None dared to speak, even those who did not understand the words that slipped past her lips, so angrily, so heated with scorn.

Another moment passed. Waiting. All maintained the silence, not even shifting as they awaited, for something to happen, for something to snap.

Yet another moment passed. Shorter. Not a single soul seemed to breath in that moment, fearful, frightened, afraid, watching as Godric's eyes darkened, lightened, shadowed.

Another moment was about to pass. Anticipation. They all wondered the result, wondered what would happen, wondered _when_.

Silence. Waiting. Shorter. Anticipation.

Dark. Light. Shadow. Tension.

Fear. Glee. Anger. Excitement.

Then, a sound broke it. It broke the moment before it could pass.

Surprise.

A peal of rich laughter reverberated along the walls of the sanctuary, immediately snapping through the thick escalation of tension.

Godric was laughing, actually laughing as a grin pulled at his lips.

All the vampires seemed to retract their fangs in surprise, looking from their sheriff to the small girl that Eric held dangling in the air.

* * *

_Right_, Maël thought, becoming increasingly annoyed by the sound of laughter and the pointed stares. _Right, how did I end up here, as in: being stared at like some circus act while I was being strangled mid-air?_

_My stupid fucking mouth_.

...

* * *

_.continué._

* * *

_..._


	2. Chapitre II

**Don't own it, don't shoot me. All familiar characters and lines are from the True Blood series on HBO.**

**Summary:**

She was a regular girl, rational and realistic. She wasn't interested in dark romances, having a supernatural fairytale, or being _special_. Maël was normal. She liked normal. He was a vampire. This is not a love story.

.~.

**Seems Godric's character been twisted by me. In more ways than one... ****What do you think?**

**Oh, and are the chapters too long? I don't update that often, so I thought I should make up for it in length... *wink***

**Read+Review=(•****‿****•)**

_Commence thy reading._

* * *

**Irrational Rationality**

_Chapitre II_

_..._

Maël wondered if she could be anymore mortified.

Laughter echoed loudly across the room; the tall, domed ceiling only aiding to this endeavour as the sound ricocheted off of them. Which also conveniently aided in amplifying Maël's mortification.

Everyone was looking at her, pinning her down with their judgmental looks.

Maël observed them back with a visible furrow to her brow. It would be mild to say that she irritated by their unwavering gazes. There was something demeaning about the way they scrutinized her like she was an odd specimen of insect.

Most of the room consisted of vampires. And they all happened to be staring at her, _glaring_ at her, with frighteningly similar looks of indignant perplexion. It was quite eerie how identical many of their expressions were; the majority of the vampires seemed unsure how to react under protocol, caught in a dangerous mix of confusion, vexation, and irritation. _  
_

Over the tall blond vampire's left shoulder, Maël glimpse to see a stormy expression developing on the Sookie lady's pretty face.

Maël supposed Sookie was aiming to look enraged—she had a surprisingly vicious glare—but the woman's bouncy blonde ringlets and exaggerated expression of anger made her appear to be only slightly less comical than a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Instead of enraged, the curvy blonde simply looked endearingly peeved despite her efforts otherwise.

The sideburned vampire beside her only encouraged the facetious quality of it all.

Standing dutifully beside her, he loomed over the petite woman like some sort of large bird of prey; the vampire looked equally anxious as he was annoyed. His stance was firm, strong, and resolute as he angled himself forward, seeming set on defending his love.

However, instead of a protective lover—Maël assumed he was the 'lover' based upon the bile-inducing fluff piece that happened not moments before—he seemed more like her parental guardian than anything else. As his lean hands gripped onto Sookie's shoulders, Maël noticed that he seemed to be more concerned about preventing his girlfriend from getting down and dirty, rather than getting her out of harm's way.

_And judging by that none-too-subtle look_, Maël noted with amusement as she caught a sharp appreciation filter past the older woman's blue eyes, _the woman wouldn't mind getting a bit _dirty _with Godric's tall blond friend here. _She caught the once-over fixate on his backside. _Yup, she wouldn't mind. At. All._

The tall blond sent a fleeting look back at the couple, knowingly affixing them with a heated stare and a smug countenance.

Maël felt uncomfortable by the exchange. Especially so when the Sookie lady shifted uncomfortably, appearing discernibly wound-up as she clenched her legs tightly together, muscles visibly bunching beneath the thin material of her dress.

It left Maël wondering if American women were sluttier than European ones. _Or __perhaps they might just be equally_ _slutty_, she purposed, sparing another glance at the blonde woman—who, despite her looming sideburned vampire, was evidently having some sort of salacious fantasy of another. Maël grimaced. _While it's debatable who's sluttier, _the Sookie woman subtly squirmed and bit at her pretty pink lips, _I certainly hope we at least _look_ classier while being so._ _  
_

Nevertheless, putting blatant sexual tension aside, Maël found herself out of sorts in regards to the situation, once again wondering if there was a limit to her mortification.

_Probably not_, she decided, feeling the crawling heat of all the leers and glowers directed at her. The weight of the stares was like being crushed beneath a six-ton elephant; suffocating and unsuitably uncomfortable.

And that laughter. That _goddamned _laughter.

It was still reverberating loudly off the walls. Taunting her. Goading her. Mocking her.

_I really doubt I've ever been so mortified in my short, short life_, she thought. Her cheeks burned like she'd been smouldered with heated coal.

The edges of her sight began to blur as the grip upon her neck tightened a fraction. _Well, at least I won't be stuck much longer in this humiliated state,_ she tried to placate herself,_ if one were to assume by the steadily tightening force to my larynx._

Maël held her breath for as long as she could, trying to prevent herself from coughing out the last bit of oxygen that remained within her lungs. Tears prickled, stinging, at her eyes as she struggled to maintain that last bit of breath, the only bit of her composure that still remained.

The shadows within the room seemed to increase, creating a dark tunnel around her vision.

However, instead of focusing on the man, the vampire, who held her loftily in the air—the monster who was strangling her into oblivion—Maël directed her shadowed focus at the source of the reflecting laughter.

Godric.

The sound of the youthful vampire's laugh echoed in sync with the beats of her heart. She could feel blood roaring loudly against her eardrums, the sound pounding like mad.

Maël looked at him, momentarily enthralled by the vampire.

It was an odd sight to see him so lost in his motions.

Godric held himself upright, head tilted a fraction back as he let out steady, periodic sounds of mirth. They weren't loud, obnoxious howls, or hissing, low cackles; nothing like how one would portray the laughter of a vampire.

His laugh was a straightforward chuckle with a comfortable volume that sounded natural. Maël listened to the clear rings of its peculiarity while it slid fluidly through the air. The chuckles weren't much deeper in sound than his speaking voice but the difference in pitch was noticeable if one listened close enough.

It resonated within you—warm and smooth—and was rather quite charming with its uneven pitch and languid tone. The laughter sounded heedlessly impetuous as it escaped the vampire's mouth with a soft crescendo, pleasant in its gradation.

Yet, as pleasant and unencumbered as Godric's laugh was, it only seemed to grate upon Maël's nerves.

In fact, Maël found that she hated everything about it; the teasing impudence edging beneath the playful tone, the polished chuckles that boldly punctuated every now and then, and more importantly, the _infuriating_ fact that the more he seemed to laughed, the more humiliated she felt.

But the quality of his laughter wasn't truly what made Maël hate it so.

To put it simply, Godric's laugh unnerved her.

While it had an offsetting quality that daunted upon her and confused her logic, his laughter was surprisingly young.

Naturally, it matched his appearance; maintaining a cheeky quality that was easily cohesive with his supposed age, but to hear it slide so easily along his tongue and out into the open air was peculiar to say the least.

He sounded youthful, free, and full of energy; presenting a perturbing contrast to reality, she found.

No matter how well Godric seemed to blend, there was something irrefutably _off_ about the vampire, something disconnected and detached—something _ominous _that lingered beyond the present mirth in his clear green eyes.

Maël unconciously shivered, a sharp tingle trailing up her spine as she tried to recall where she had seen such a look before. Its recognition alarmed her but the pain at her throat prevented her from delving further into nostalgia.

Although the unnerving familiarity irritably itched at her mind, Maël couldn't exactly recall much while she struggled for air.

The hand at her throat was relentless in its slowly tightening grip, aiming to drag out the torture for as long as it could.

Maël was helpless as she watched the edges of the youthful vampire's eyes faintly crease faintly with delight—he was still laughing uproariously, much to her irritation. Her unsteady focus could make out occasional flashes of white from beneath well-formed lips.

She caught a hint of fang as her word faded in a dizzying spiral, darker and darker and _darker_; the elongated canines glinted harshly as the warm lighting of the sanctuary reflected off the starkness of its colour.

Then it stopped. The laughter.

It died.

Startled in her daze, Maël forced herself to open her eyes when the lack of sound met her ears. She peered painfully through squinting lids at Godric, confused by the sudden quiet.

The vampire's face sobered into its previous blank mask, no sign of previous mirth twinkling from beneath his green eyes.  
He looked at Maël for a moment, just stared as she dangled in the air. His expression was unfathomable.

Shaking his head, the vampire sighed softly, a bare huff of air that seemed almost disheartened as it left him, quietly dissipating mournfully into nothingness.

"Let the child go, Eric," Godric said, flicking his eyes towards the tall blond with a pointed look. He spoke quietly, but authority in his tone projected volumes.

Maël felt herself immediately dropped to the ground, unceremoniously, making her wince as she connected with the floor. The impact sent an ache through her tailbone, and clattered her teeth together.

The cool stone floor made Maël feel slightly overheated as the backs of her thighs pressed down onto it. The contrast of her warm skin meeting the cold marble caused her to hiss softly.

Shadows were still rather abundant in her vision, so she blinked quickly twice to press back the webs of black. She was only partly successful as a tingling headache began developing around her clouded vision.

"Are you alright?" a voice asked, the green-eyed vampire's. He reached towards her, silently offering a hand for support.  
Maël glanced at the smooth, deathly pale flesh, nose wrinkling as she reached up.

His eyes lightened, fractionally extending further in his assistance.

Instead of grabbing onto the proffered hand, Maël bypassed it coolly, reaching up to rub at her aching temples instead.

He dropped his hand back to his side in a smooth motion.

Although his face betrayed no emotion, he seemed to tense.

Maël briefly wondered if that had been a flash of disappointed rejection she'd seen in his eyes.

"_Ça va_," she said curtly, making to get up from her diminished position upon the floor. "I'm fine," she repeated in English, not sure who exactly she was assuring—or rather, who even cared.

Maël was sure to rise slowly, not wanting to crumble like a ruined mess onto the floor. _Which I've already done earlier, _she thought derisively, _so there's really no need for repeat performances._

Unfortunately, her legs had other ideas, clearly not caring for her humiliation as they began shaking when she attempted to stand. It forced Maël to stumble ungracefully into the tall blond vampire, Eric, who was standing beside Godric.

Maël didn't bother to apologize when she knocked into the abnormally tall man. She immediately shifted away with a sharp intake of breath, behaving as if she'd been scalded from the contact.

Catching sight of that menacing glare from those blue eyes made her take an extra step further away.

_Don't want to end up in another fucking choke-hold_, she thought indignantly, glaring back at the blond vampire. The vampire adopted a subtle complacency in his eyes as she glowered at him, a smug twist curling fractionally at his full lips.

_It's like he knows I'm_ afraid, she thought worryingly._ He can see beneath the façade—or at least he's making me think he can—and beneath what he may see, he knows my fear. _Maël shuddered when the vampire outright smirked at her, looking twice as ominous than before. _A__nd he enjoys it_, she thought in disgust, sneering. _I'm betting all these bloodsuckers enjoy it, that they all get an addicting __rush from the fear of their prey. But it's in their instinct, isn't it? To chase us, to feed from us? To see us as nothing more than mere livestock?_

Maël found her thoughts distasteful, the idea of vampires herding humans like cattle made her frown at the primitivism. Yet, she could still picture the scene with relative clarity. It was frightening how plausible such a notion was.

Shaking her head to rid the thought, Maël took a daring step forward, closing off the gap between her and the blond vampire.

The cautionary alarms within her head were going crazy, protesting as she decide to place her pride ahead of her survival instincts.

Maël held his intense glare for a brief second before scoffing dismissively at the vampire, somehow managing to sneer down her nose at the much taller man. Her disdain for him, and his aggravating complacency, was far more than evident.

_I may fear you_, she thought rebelliously, aware that he could not truly hear her thoughts, _but fear is only as deep as the mind allows—or so I've been told. But either way, I'm not letting you sink your scary, untrimmed, vampire nails into my mind and making a bloody mess of it all._

Brushing past him with feigned nonchalance, Maël fixed the other one, Godric, with a blank stare. _And while I may not fear you as much because of that sweet-talking baby face_, she told him through her gaze, _I sure as _fuck_ don't trust you, either._

Turning her nose up at them both, she sidled smoothly through the gap between the two, sniffing contemptuously when her bare arms brushed through the cold air.

Spotting her red leather satchel, which she'd been forced to drop, further down the aisle, Maël moved purposefully towards it.

To be honest, Maël was internally petrified of everything that had just happened—from the vampire in the basement, to the blaring alarms, to the confrontation of the Fellowship, to being strangledand almost killed in a _church_, everything was going too fast for her to catch up to speed with.

Maël wanted to break down and weep all over the place, tears prickling hotly at the corner of her eyes, but seeing those condescending looks and disparaging glances from the vampires standing in the room made her square her shoulders in defiance as she walked by.

_I may be out_ _of my league, and scared shitless from being caught in a life and death crisis_, she thought, looking contemptuously at every single being who dared to look her way, _but I'm not fucking stupid enough to show you that. It's irrational to bleed oneself in the midst of sharks, or rather; it's simply _idiotic_ to do so in the midst of fucking_ _vampires_. Maël found a smile make its way to her lips, curling faintly at the corners. _So feast your eyes, because I'm not going to give you anything satisfying to look at._

Stopped in front of her upturned bag, she groaned in exasperation when she noticed most of its contents had spilled messily across the floor and into the cramped section between two rows of pews.

Maël reached down, only to feel a terrible ache spread throughout her body when her muscles stretched tightly against her joints. The brief pain sent a jolt through her, and a temporary flash of darkened spots littered her eyesight.

Maël grabbed onto the top of a pew for support when another swirl of darkness invaded her vision.

Sniffing quietly at the pain, she forced herself forward, grabbing whatever she could of the various assortment of items scattered upon the flooring. Looking at the mess actually almost made her cry. Everything was _everywhere_.

It took Maël about a minute or two to gather everything, and another quick minute for her to gather _herself._ Standing straight was becoming increasingly hard with her increasingly eager headache and the sway of her focus.

Shuffling over to her bag, arms full of things precariously balanced against each other, Maël tried to figure out how she'd pick it up without making another mess.

However, before she could pick it up, a quick disturbance in the air startled her backwards. Strands of her long, dark hair flew about as she stumbled unsteadily, hands clutching tightly at her things. She actually managed to keep all it all in place within the hold of her arms, albeit the dangerous teetering of an item or two.

A familiar pale hand grabbed her bag up, making to give it to her before extending it further from her reach.

"_Comment_?" he asked softly, his green-eyes piercing as he leant forward, almost conspiratorial with his whisper.

"How…?" she trailed off in question, perplexed by the vagueness and vexed by the fact he seemed to be toying with her. "How, what?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Godric looked at her, unblinking for a moment, before tilting his lips up into that barely distinguishable smile.

"Nothing," he said, enigmatic, "nevermind."

"Fine."

Maël was tired of trying to decipher the 'older-than-Jesus' vampire. It was irritatingly difficult and only served to make her angrier.

Noticing her pointed look and curt tone, the curve of his lips became more distinguished.

"Have I made you irate, _ma petite_?" he asked, gentle in his mocking.

_Gentle or not, he's mocking me nonetheless_, Maël noted scornfully, immediately becoming angered.

"_Non_," she hissed at the boy, the _vampire. _Her blue eyes pierced him with a heated glare. "I'm _fine_."

"You do not appear so, _ma petite._"

His tone had not lost its playful edge of mockery, still subtly jabbing her with an undertone of a taunt.

"I'm not your 'little one', nor am I, your '_dear'_," she scoffed in vexation, moving closer until she was right beneath his nose. Though they were not touching, she could feel the cool of his skin through the air between them.

Looking up, Maël was vaguely surprised that he wasn't that tall, only barely a head taller than her. _Perhaps it was his presence that made him seem to be more than he was_, she usually had such an impact, and Maël didn't doubt how powerful the boyish vampire truly was. _I mean, he's 'older-than-Jesus', or whatever._

"I'm not your _anything_," she continued, biting out her words, "so if you can't refrain with your immature little taunts, do not address me at all."

Reaching forward, she quickly grabbed for her bag, temporarily balancing her items in one arm as she snagged the shoulder strap.

"Thanks for picking it up, _chéri,_" Maël smiled sweetly. Her tone was full of ice as she roughly yanked the bag from his grasp, the sarcastic endearment punctuating the motion.

However, instead of being offended, as he should've, Godric appeared to be vaguely amused, openly smirking.

He let her pull the bag from him, red leather sliding easily from his grasp. The strap dragged along his pale skin for a brief moment, the bright red making a sharp disparity against white.

"_Pas de problème_," he said—_not a problem_—as a smirk beginning to curl cheekily at the edge of his lips, "_ma petite_."

"Fuck _you_," she burst out, throwing her stuff to the floor, uncaring as it skittered in all directions.

Hearing the teasing endearment was the last straw. Today hadn't been one of her best day—not by a long shot—and that little harmless jab was all it took to snap Maël's composure, forcing her to lose control of what was clearly rational and all that _clearly_ wasn't.

The atmosphere visibly tensed.

Maël was ashamed of herself as soon as the expletive left her lips. It tasted oddly bitter upon her tongue, and her cheeks reddened in further mortification as she noticed her stuff scattered once more across the floor.

However, while she felt obviously humiliated by her own childish behaviour, the look of surprise upon Godric's face somewhat mollified her, _almost _making her outburst worth it—if only for that look of blatant bewilderment.

"Eric."

Maël started, she hadn't even noticed the tall blond move towards her—his expression, rather murderous—until Godric halted him with a soft-spoken, but clear, command.

The rest of the vampires appeared to be quite agitated as well, but none dared to step forward when Godric swept over them with his impassive gaze, an evident warning in his eyes.

She felt an inch of gratification for the vampire, slightly guilty for being such a nosy bitch towards him.

For the most part though, Maël was still quite livid; no matter how thankful she was to Godric for stopping his faithful lackeys from tearing her apart. Once she got going, it was hard to stop her anger.

Feeling another round of horribly crass cusses bubble up eagerly in her mouth, Maël bit her tongue tightly between her teeth to stop herself. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths in hopes of calming herself.

_Do not say anything more_, she chastised, the vicious expression on Godric's blond vampire burning clearly against the back of her closed eyelids. _D__on't dig yourself any further into a grave that's already plenty deep._ Maël let out a shuddering breath. Sure,_ this is bullshit—everything that's happened is utter shit—but temper tantrums are NOT the answer._

Breathing in and out until her lungs ached lightly made Maël felt slightly more pacified. She opened her eyes, taking everything in for a moment before meeting Godric's gaze with slight trepidation.

Expecting quick anger or vibrant irritation, Maël felt taken aback by the sight of an unruffled look present in his unblinking green eyes.

It seemed almost _indulgent. _

Wrinkling her brows in confusion, Maël found that she wasn't quite sure how to feel about the odd expression colouring his composed countenance.

It made her heart ache and her throat choke up, like she was some weepy heroine from a romance novel.

The feeling was neither pleasant nor satisfying.

Contrary to what's often written, there was nothing like a 'sweet, _sweet_ pain of ecstasy filling her up and tugging upon her heartstrings', nor was there a 'heart-thumping twist of throbbing _love_ lingering persistently at her chest'. And there sure as fuck wasn't anything making her heart 'tattoo both tempting pain and enticing _pleasure_ against the aching of her bosom'.

Things like that don't happen in real life, _shouldn't_ happen in real life, and anyone who said otherwise were either hopeless romantics or hopeless idiots. The two usually go hand in hand.

In fact, Maël would rather die a thousand deaths before she would even consider the thought of heartburn and asphyxiation as something _romantic_. There was more than one thing wrong with that.

But while her brain logically protested against her fluttering pulse and sweaty palms, she couldn't deny their loathsome existence.

This made her feel lost, painfully so.

As a well-reasoned young lady with more confidence in her logic than anything else, the confliction between her mind and body threatened to tear her apart.

Though nothing could beat the horror of senseless, plotless smut fiction, Maël found that simultaneously feeling both desperation and desolation was a frightening experience in itself.

_—her heart thudded harshly against her chest, her breathing felt constrained, her head ached in torment—_

Maël also found that it wasn't a pretty experience.

It was like a roller coaster of overwhelming emotion, taking its toll on her frightened mental state as it influenced a peculiar clenching sensation upon her body, which felt completely lost upon her.

Maël scrunched her blue eyes tight as she tried to shut out the sight of Godric. She didn't wish to see the perplexing emotion exuding from his eyes, and she tried her hardest to deny the vibrancy of their green along with the clear blatancy within them.

His gaze shook her composure, the straightforward gaze disallowing her to make any excuses, and it stripped her of the meagre control she held.

Maël disliked feeling out of control, and she hated how some vampire could make her feel more so than any other.

As a moment passed, she opened her eyes, hoping that the expression was now gone—praying that it had only been a fleeting fancy, and willing to free her from its bewildering grasp.

Godric smiled softly, like he knew her thoughts.

Against her wishes, he still peered at her with that same _look_. That unfathomable look of indulgence.

As Maël stared hard into his eyes, silently commanding him to stop, she felt something within her stir—though only barely in its brevity. However, as brief as it may have been, she swiftly quelled it before anything concrete could surface.

Maël was certain that she would be better off denying the existence of it—whatever _it_ was—because no matter what happened after today, getting involved with a vampire could only cause dire inconveniences.

_Any thoughts otherwise are to be hereby struck down by the almighty gods_, Maël mentally declared. Her eyes caught on to the pretty stained glass of Jesus Christ adorning the ceiling. _Right, this is a Catholic church, so: Dear God, vampires are a big no-no. __A-fucking-men._

Maël knew that if she let herself believe in some boy's pretty green eyes—even for the briefest of moments—it would be a matter of time before she devolved into a hatefully typical teenage girl, controlled by obsession and submissive to frivolities. As a sixteen year old girl who has not yet fallen prey to stereotype, it simply would be inevitable unless Maël took effort in preventing such a horrid thing.

And prevent it, she would.

A descent in the hackneyed territory of fangirl-ism was _not_ an option. The notion practically equated idiocy.

Not only that, Maël recalled her own rule in life—the one that she'd foolishly forsaken at the first step into this horrible place—it dictated: 'self-preservation over the spirit of enquiry'. If there was any occasion to start following it, it would be now.

_That look. Those green eyes. Him. They all spell trouble, with a capital 'T'._

Maël wasn't a stranger to trouble, nor was she weak towards temptation. She'd seen enough of their consequences to know that a quick exit before anything drastic could happen was her best bet.

Feeling a wave of dizziness coming, Maël shook her head, trying to shake the focus back into her vision.

"Well, _c'est de la balle_!" she remarked sarcastically, trying to swiftly wrap things up. Everything has been so horrifically surreal that Maël just wanted to the nightmare. "It's been a blast, a ball, a _whatever_, but fun times don't last forever," she looked around her, grimacing at her own words, "at least they don't for humans, so I'll just be going now."

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, not caring for the items she'd spilled onto the floor as she quickly strode towards the exit. She couldn't care less at the moment, feeling tired and faint. It also felt like someone was trying to break out of her head using a pickaxe, and all she wanted was to end this foolish endeavour of hers so she could go find a comfortable mattress.

"_Attend_."

_Wait_.

Stopping with her hand upon the handle, she turned, fixing Godric with her blue eyes.

Maël smiled in amusement as she recalled herself asking the same of him moments before. _We had exchanged our dialogue before that, too. How cute_, she thought with sarcasm.

It made her briefly forget about the aches and pains littering across her body as she stared at her green-eyed vampire, the spotted vision only vaguely distracting.

She smiled, the black closing in on her.

"_Pourquoi_?" she threw his own words back at him.

_Why?_

The sound of her voice trailed out sardonically. It left a bittersweet aftertaste while its lingering echo rippled in her wake.

Maël made to step out of the doorway, to fade artfully into the night like they do in dramatic endings to contemporary films.

As the night draft slid lightly through her hair, cooling her heated countenance, the shadows waiting at the edge of her vision swirled, inconvenient as they began to spread. They blocked her sight; cutting her off before she even crossed the threshold.

She tumbled backwards, with her knees crumbling and her eyes rolling back. It looked nowhere as graceful as it did in the movies.

Her eyelashes fluttered wildly against pale cheeks as she fell into the oblivion called darkness.

Maël wasn't sure if Godric let her hit the ground.

* * *

Godric watched as the small slip of a girl smirked sweetly at him, almost coy with that vicious little grin.

He watched as she stepped out into the night with a flick of her long dark hair. Frizzy flyaways tickled the air as the sweep of her mane swung across her slender shoulder, perceptibly teasing to his superior eyesight.

Godric wasn't oblivious to the fact her smile was no sweeter than it was genuine; he recognized the parting jab for what it was, and it left him with some level of excitement.

It almost made him want to grin himself.

He quickly suppressed the uplift of his lips, finding himself unaccustomed to the emotion he felt, and more so—the reaction it directed. It had been more than a while since Godric was last intrigued by anything or anyone, and far too long since he had genuinely smiled.

But one cheeky smirk from a child—a child that was barely of age—managed to magically stir something awake within him.

Godric wasn't sure he liked this resurfaced sentiment, as nostalgic as it seemed. It felt odd to him, unused and ancient; but more than that, it felt far too uncontrollable for his liking.

When she looked back with an arch tilt of her chin, he felt the corners of his lips involuntarily curl once more. It couldn't be quelled this time—the smile—as the quick surge of excitement surfaced much too swiftly and was successful in forcing a quick toothy grin onto his features.

Godric found himself much too eager for her attention, irrationally so.

He briefly wondered what it meant for him to act in such a fashion, but like he was truly an adolescent boy, he didn't ponder for very long as a bare breeze allowed him the soft scent of her wispy perfume, effectively distracting him.

It smelt of a heady blend of subtle blooms; he could make out the complicated vanilla base, topped by faint brushstrokes of roses, and softened by a melded scent of irises and violets. The velvet scent tempted him more than he wished.

Within a second, Godric found himself moving forwards instinctively, only registering his own actions when the girl suddenly crumpled into him.

Her skin was searing against his cool flesh.

With his arms abruptly filled with the girl's warm body, Godric felt the delayed weight of realization. He blinked in barely-veiled surprise, rather dumbfounded by his own unexpected impulsivity.

Godric hadn't been one to behave in such a way, at least not since he was a fair deal younger—when the world was as openly savage as the beasts they hunted. In contrast, impetuously acting upon instinct rather than logic was not suitable for surviving the modern era.

While acclimatization may have been difficult at first, Godric strived for success, and eventually he found pride in his high maintenance of sheer control.

As years upon years became decades within centuries, Godric's ability to adapt successfully grew, and with it, so did his assertion that nothing ever shook his control. While time progressed, his will became an unshakable declaration—a given fact that allowed him to brush off the prejudices and discriminations of the current time.

Godric was supposed to be a resolute leader of the 'new world', one of the oldest vampires left in modern history.

Yet, one bare whiff of some child's _perfume _managed to send him into overdrive?

He didn't know if he even had the right to be ashamed of himself.

He would have sighed in disheartenment if not for the prickling sensation at the back of his neck, observing and judging his actions with careful caution.

Distinctly recalling where he was, Godric tightened his hold on the girl, lifting her into his arms like the small child she was. Turning towards the gathering of vampires behind him—who were staring at him with evident puzzlement—Godric kept his face sternly impassive as he beckoned them to follow with a tilt of his head.

He could see that Eric had the unsurprising urge to speak out, but to Godric's surprise, the blond kept relatively mum as he chose to obediently trail his maker out of the church.

Eric has always been blunt to a fault; straightforward and heedless even as he pries into places that he knows he shouldn't. While Godric has always found Eric's ability to speak candidly quite admirable—refreshing, even—he knew that his child could also be impossibly callous with his words, especially considering the emotions of others. Eric was known to simply throw sentiments aside just to get what he wanted, unmindful of 'trivial' things such as boundaries and rarely—if ever—treaded with careful passivity.

It must have taken quite some restraint to keep his errant thoughts silent.

Godric would have congratulated his child if not for his following actions.

Restraint did nothing to stop Eric from sneering nastily at the little French girl, Godric noted with a sharp inkling of amusement.

_The girl stood up to him_, he recalled with levity, remembering the comical twitch in his progeny's jaw when she'd scoffed dismissively at them both. _She brushed us off like we were barely even worth the slightest bit of consideration. Two of the oldest vampires in the modern era, no less than worthless creatures in her eyes._ He suppressed his wish to chuckle. The previous demonstration of his laughter had frightened more than he'd intended. _The delightful gall of a naïve child. How novel._

Godric was evidently amused by her antics; the child was not even a fraction of his age, and yet, she had the nerve to act as if _he_ were but a misguided adolescent pondering suicide. _An fellow peer_, he thought mockingly. The fact that she dared to reprimand him like he was no more than another troubled teen—petulantly demanding his compliance through scathing taunts that were far too childishly executed to be taken seriously—was a source for both his striving infuriation and escalating entertainment.

Godric clutched tighter onto her soft skin.

...

Godric was silent as he sat in the car, impassively staring out the tinted windows at the passing blurs of darkened buildings. His eyesight could pick out and pinpoint the details in each one. He tried to string the image of the entire street together through mere memory.

It was rather boring—he'd already driven past this very street many times before; he could easily recall every establishment with near perfect clarity—but his senseless game served it's purpose as a distraction.

Godric could feel Eric's blue eyes pining him through the rearview mirror, failing to appear even the slightest bit subtle from the passenger seat. He looked as if he itched to speak his thoughts, just as he had back in the church.

He evidently had many questions for Godric, that much was scrawled upon his handsome features. Eric always was too inquisitive for his own good—it made him quite confrontational, often too much so.

Eric was probably tempted to question Godric about the little French girl, wondering what exactly was so special about the tiny human that would excuse all her insults without suitable punishment. He probably wanted to ask Godric why he had so eagerly protected her while he clearly seemed to care nothing for his own life. He probably wished to inquire why his maker held such an attentive interest in some impudent child while very little other than his moral ideals about humanity has mattered in so long.

If Eric had chosen to ask, Godric truly didn't know what he would have said in response.

He looked down at the girl, who was sprawled across the backseat beside him. She shifted, stretching her neck and turning against the soft leather of the seating. Godric let the heat of her cheek press lightly against his thigh, her long dark strands of hair spilling freely onto him.

He hadn't planned to bring her along with him.

Godric was well aware that the little girl had no business getting involved in his world, in the supernatural world, but it was _because_ she had no reason to be involved that he acted so selfishly. He wasn't foolish enough to believe she would ever willingly enter this world he lived in, especially not after the incidents of today.

Even without the current circumstances, Godric doubted the girl would voluntarily seek out her own demise, and play with vampires. _S__he seems too much like a stick-in-the-mud_, he thought in wry amusement. He'd seen the way she tried to maintain a rational control over everything that happened, no matter how unconventional or unreasonable it was.

Though she may seem uninteresting and far too methodical for most people, Godric found himself quite unwilling to part from her. Her quirky exaggeration of rationalities interested him, and the fact that her mouth didn't quite filter as efficiently as her mind was also quite amusing.

Godric couldn't recall the last time someone cursed at him as much as she had. _But that's probably because they're either dead or worse_, he reasoned._  
_

Examining her still features, he contemplated what made her so fascinating, fascinating enough for him to forgo snapping her spine out of her throat for her blatant impertinence. _Well, I wouldn't do that myself, of course. I'm an advocate for human rights, aren't I?_ He stroked down the line of her pale throat, finger barely shadowing the flesh in fear of waking her._ But what made me protect her from Eric? He would have broken her in two, and I could've just scolded him afterwards for his actions instead of intervening... _

She jerked away from his touch, nose wrinkling as she tried to bat away the ticklish feeling with a shake of her head. Godric felt his throat tighten when her pursed lips barely brushed against his fingertips.

Her lips were pale, much paler in the darkness. He could make out the minuscule cracks of dryness and the leftover brushes of colour shading her full bottom lip. Her mouth tempted him, making him think of the horribly blunt things that would spew from it when given a chance.

The slip of a girl made him unreasonably excited with her blunted words and snarky little jabs of insolence. On some degree, this also made Godric rather annoyed, almost vexed by the fact some ordinary little human girl could induce such a waver on his precise control, especially with something as inconsequential as her childish digs and shameless assumptions.

Yet, despite his thoughts in regards to the situation, nothing could change how the girl affected Godric. The fact that she even enticed him in the first place.

He couldn't distinctly recall the last occasion that he felt this way, this blatant exhilaration. In fact, he couldn't be entirely certain that it hadn't ended in an abundance of bloodshed and unnecessary gore.

That was how Godric's intrigues often ended—in blood, in _death_.

This irrational interest in the little French girl was bound to end the same.

Godric knew himself to be selfish, inherently so. No matter how civil or allowing he portrayed himself to be, Godric was aware that at his very core—beneath the layers of pacifistic ideals and numerous façades—he was a selfish creature with no need for moral concepts.

His baser instincts were simple in their desires, demanding in their attentions, and had no qualms about the lengths they would allow just to obtain what they wished.

Godric prided himself on the command of those instincts, but he knew that if he continued his interest, the selfish needs and desires kept beneath the layers of control and reasoning would become heedless in their eventuality.

They would fight and tear against their restraints until given the taste of freedom—

_Of flesh and copious amounts of blood._

And after that, the monster beneath it all would soon surface.

Godric didn't know if he could still remain if that happened. He would become it, willing or not, and he would _enjoy_ being it.

The vampire; the cruel, calculating creature that took what it wanted and behaved as it pleased, uncaringly self-serving and unwarrantedly sadistic.

Godric was familiar with it, the uninhabited creature he truly was beneath his façade of humanity. He knew of the brutal, bloodthirsty beast. He knew that once unleashed, it could not be tamed.

The ruthless face of reality presented a glaring contrast between his youthful exterior and the depraved creature he entertained within. While his face was smooth and unlined with an innocence only children could hold, beneath the illusion was a disgusting base creature that no face could successfully depict, being far too wicked to be correctly seen.

_Perhaps that is why vampires wear the flesh of humans_, he pondered, thoughtfully, _because the face of evil is far too corrupt to be successfully portrayed upon this plane of existence. _

He tongued his sharp canines in response to his thoughts, pressing down on the sharp points with a wary sort of contemplation. The metallic flavour of blood pooled easily into the cavity of his mouth, tasting far too sweet for his liking.

Godric wondered what he would do to the girl—the pretty little French girl whose sweet-scented locks and angry silver eyes tempted him through mere thought—if he lost control.

He flexed the muscles in his jaw as the craving itched at him. She lay defenselessly beside him, her warm breath trailing over the fabric of his pants.

She was far too close for his liking, far too defenceless and vunerable.

_Too convenient_.

Godric knew that it would be far more logical to push her aside, to quell the hunger before it really started to each; but despite logic, he was unable to act accordingly, his impulses whispering against whatever logic he possessed.

They demanded him to bite her, to drink her down, to possess her through death. She was just laying there, helpless if he chose. She wouldn't protest—wouldn't have the _breath_ to protest.

He could disassemble her easily. He _wanted_ to.

He would do it in effort to discover what it was about the tiny human that could possibly entice him—_her fresh porcelain skin, her challenging gaze that shone blue in darkened lighting, the harsh glower and cutting glare—_but once he was done, satisfied with whatever he wished to obtain, Godric knew that he'd be too far gone to stop himself from tearing her apart.

Though the girl had not scented sweet beneath her tempting fragrance—smelling more so bitter like the sharp aroma of straight black coffee than the sweetness of candied sugar—she had a refreshing feel about her that was enlivening, that beckoned for him to drink her dry.

Her neck was slender and smooth, so pale that faintly coloured veins could be traced from beneath her skin. They pulsed along with the steady beat of her heart, fluttering lightly as the rush of blood flowed easily through them.

Godric wanted to carress the muted blue branches, just to see her reaction as he brushed ice-cold fingers along her pulse point. He imagined it would quicken as the whispered touch coaxed her closer.

That slender, swan-like neck wouldn't be hard to bite into, he decided. The skin looked so thin and delicate that even an inkling of pressure from his fangs would cause them to sink effortlessly into her warm flesh.

He'd enjoy seeing the trickles of blood rivet down against the alabaster of her. The trails of red would languidly smooth across the blue of her veins, twisting and turning as it dripped from the column of her neck.

Perhaps she would gasp in pain, in pleasure, as he delved himself deeper. He could imagine pale lips parting in a plea as she gripped onto him. Her nails would murmur delicately against him before viciously clawing themselves deep.

Her blood would be hot—hot like it always was when milked straight from a live source—and he would savour the taste of it as it flowed easily past his lips.

Godric pondered on the taste of her, curious as to what sort of flavor she'd produce. Based upon her scent she smelt tart, fresh but not sweetened like he often favoured from women. However, despite what he preferred, he was certain that he'd certainly enjoy her nonetheless, no matter the taste.

Maybe through the subjection of certain emotions, her taste could be refined. Godric wondered if pressing himself closer to her petite frame would make her moan in excitement, he wondered if he could coax a lightened sweetness from her lust.

Rather than that, he was far more interested to discover how her taste would differ through pain.

Godric craved to know how her flavour would change if he chose to dig his fingers into her scalp and roughly drag her head back by the long silkened strands of her hair. He'd twist the dark lengths of it through his hand and tangle the locks between deft fingers until she begged for mercy through salted tears.

Her screams and mewls of suffering would only serve to make him more eager to feast upon her bared throat; he'd cut deeper and rougher just to hurt her, to mark her with his brand of pain.

Godric knew he wouldn't stop until the beat of her heart stilled. He would leave the excess blood thickly staining her clothes and skin like a smattered piece of abstract art, with his fangs leaving their signature upon the pale canvas of her flesh.

She'd be his, even after the very last breath hissed from aching lungs. He'd engrave himself upon her only because he didn't want anyone else to have her, to play with her—to use her like he did.

Even upon death, she would solely be his.

He'd ensure it through her death at his hands. Like a child with a beautiful butterfly, he would tear her wings off in order to have her remain. She was only one of many in his collection, but he would keep her just as he kept every other.

_A broken memory of a broken toy, used only once to satisfy before being ruined beyond recognition._

Every interest of his had served a similar fate.

Godric liked the novelty of things. If he's already had something once before, he saw no reason to partake again, as it only served to induce a boredom that was hard to quell. No one ever seemed to like him when he was bored, he had noticed throughout the years. _Eric says I'm too impetuous when I'm bored_, he recalled, thinking of the brief decade in the thirteenth century._ Although, that may have been because I decimated one army too many and started a war or two. Or three..._

Killing the prey prevents such boredom; it left him free to find something new, without critically diminishing the total human population.

As he had the tendency to lose interest quick, he worked up a habit of enjoying the hunt and catch before devouring the prey whole and moving on.

_Yes_, Godric decided, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He'd catch the little human girl; manipulate her, bite her, drain her.

He'd savour watching her fall into a disassembled mess, one that he would become too weary to clean up—and _she_ will be too broken for anything or anyone else.

The girl upon his lap whimpered, startling Godric from his reverie. Any thoughts of cruel, sadistic murder flew from his mind as his hand instinctively sought to soothe her trembling body, lightly brushing back her dark hair. He was careful not to touch his ice cold flesh against her skin.

He stroked her hair until she quieted, turning into his lap with a soft murmur.

Hearing her quiet distress made him feel an unfamiliar guilt eat at him, making him regret the thoughts he'd entertained about her.

Godric let a wry smirk twist at his lips, recalling the predictable path his thoughts had strayed towards.

_Two thousand years, I've existed_, he thought, _and still I have remained the same_. _Cruel, nihilistic, and barbaric. A two millenium year old child who played with people like one would toys. _He wanted to laugh at the irony of his very being, but he doubt it'd be a welcomed sound within the quiet confines of the car. _While I may have aged in mind and power, it seems I still futilely cling to the boy I had once been—the child who was weak and pathetic, the child who cared for none but himself._

Godric briefly remembers the vivid flashes of heat, sweat, and pain as he thinks of the blurred memories he harboured of being human. He had been a horrible human, doing and allowing things that no boy of his age should have.

_And yet_, he thought, mentally scoffing at himself,_ despite logic and reason, I still can not bear to let go of that boy—refusing to truly age past my physical appearance as I continue to allow myself monopolistic tendencies and juvenile beliefs._

He sighed, making Eric glance back at him with a subtle concern in his hard blue eyes, but Godric paid him no mind to he sighed once more.

While two thousand years had passed him by, Godric was not foolish enough to believe that he could change himself in the same way humans had evolved.

He was no human. No longer mortal, but not quite _im_mortal, either.

He was but a creature that was equal parts blessed as he was cursed.

He was a vampire, nothing more than a monster trapped within the endless loops of time.

What use did he have for evolution?

What good would evolution for his kind be?

How could they evolve when they acted as they did?

Godric shook his head.

_But_, he pondered, almost hopeful, _perhaps if we could change._ Godric amended his thoughts, _I__f__ they could_ _change. _He had already given up the thoughtless aspiration to alter himself. _If I hadn't learned from two thousand years, then I must be more foolish than I thought._

He tapped his fingers lightly upon the leather of the seating, contemplative.

_If vampires could change and rise above the truism of being a monster, would evolution then be allowed? _He dragged his blunt nails along the edging of the seat. _But, what is evolution for vampires? Would it be for better or worse? _Godric sighed, just barely though, in effort to prevent another concerned look from Eric. _What would we become? More of a bloodthirsty monster, or more than just a bloodthirsty monster?_

Godric fixed the back of Eric's blond head with a determined look.

_Perhaps he shall see._

...

* * *

_.continué._

* * *

...


End file.
